


my heart is bigger than the distance in between us

by estrella30



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Kidfic, M/M, harry is a popstar, nick is a dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 15:49:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/pseuds/estrella30
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick chuckles quietly but grabs the remote and follows Emma, Aimee coming up close behind him. It’s indeed Harry on the telly, singing along to his latest radio hit and smiling slowly into the camera far too seductively for half eight on a Friday morning, if you ask Nick. He presses the volume just in time to catch the crowd’s roaring applause and see the pink flush Harry’s cheeks. Nick watches him duck his head as he gives a small wave to the audience, and it hits Nick that Harry is still the most humble and appreciative billionaire Nick’s ever met.</p><p><i>Good job, popstar</i>, Nick thinks to himself. </p><p>or, Nick is a single dad and Harry is his bff and it's a bunch of years into the future and they fall in love</p>
            </blockquote>





	my heart is bigger than the distance in between us

**Author's Note:**

> This is the saddest thing ever, I literally heard a Big Time Rush song like, three months ago and it made me think of future Nick and Harry and I started writing this and then it totally crapped out and I forgot about it. I've been having a shit time finishing anything lately so I opened this again and apparently now here it is. 
> 
> Thanks to mrsronweasley and rivers bend and fiddleyoumust for reading along and huge thanks to jessypt for the amazing beta and croissantkatie for the britpick. any remaining mistakes are completely my own. 
> 
> Title from the Paramore song Proof which is my personal Nick and Harry anthem. You should give it a listen.

*

_when you look into the future_

_who's there standing with you_

_when you close your eyes_

-Picture This, Big Time Rush

*

 

*  
Nick takes a sip of his morning coffee and focuses on eating his cereal ignoring the murderous glare of the six year old sat across from him at the kitchen table.

“It’s not fair,” Emma mutters darkly. Nick feels the thump in the table leg as she kicks it and hides his smile behind the rim of his coffee mug.

“What’s not fair, poppet?”

“I said I didn’t want cereal for breakfast,” she whines.

Nick looks up and narrows his eyes. He’s trying to discipline her with his stare alone, but if the way she’s locked eyes with him, chin already raised, is any indication he’s already lost this battle.

“Yes, but you said that _after_ you already told me you _did_ want cereal for breakfast,” Nick replies patiently. “We don’t waste food in this house; you picked it, you eat it.”

“But I changed my mind!” She flaps hand around in the air, bright red curls bouncing around her face, and Nick has to remind himself that she’s only six, not sixteen. Locking her in her bedroom for the next thirty years isn’t an option.

Not that he would ever _do_ that. Just. Sometimes the idea is tempting.

“I’m allowed to change my mind, you know,” she presses and waits for his response. Nick doesn’t have one, and he sees Emma’s eyes sparkle at the silence. She’s sat up straight in her chair now, most likely smelling the scent of victory, and she shoves the hair back from her face hastily.

Nick can usually go twenty rounds with his daughter but on the morning before she leaves for an overnight sleepover at Aimee and Ian’s, he’s not going to be at his strongest. Emma might be six, but she’s smarter than most grownups he knows. “Aunt Aimee says—”

“Hey!” A voice calls from the lounge, the front door banging shut just before Aimee pokes her head into the kitchen. “Did I hear my name already?

“Dad says I’m not allowed to change my mind,” Emma bellows.

Nick rolls his eyes. “That’s not what happened,” he says but it’s useless; Aimee sits down in a chair and pulls Emma into her lap. Nick can hardly wait until Aimee’s kids are six. He’s going to throw a bloody party.

“Well what were you changing your mind about, Miss Priss?” Aimee asks gently.

Emma sniffles. “Breakfast.” She blinks wide green eyes at Aimee, the round of a fat teardrop settling just on the edge of her lashes. “My cereal’s gone all soggy, and Dad says I have to eat it anyway and—“

“It wouldn’t be soggy if you just ate it when I poured it for you,” Nick mutters.

“Well that’s just terrible,” Aimee says, pressing a kiss into the side of Emma’s curls. She tucks Emma’s head away and waves Nick off. He gives up, stands from the table and starts collecting the breakfast dishes to leave soaking in the sink. “What do you say you go get dressed and get your overnight bag? We’ll go out for bacon sandwiches before we go see Uncle Ian and the twins. Just you and me; a girl’s morning out.”

Emma lifts her head and sniffles. “Shouldn’t we bring Sabrina then?” Emma asks, and Nick’s heart swells near to bursting. How is it that children can make you so frustrated you want to put them up for sale to the highest bidder in one second, and then genuinely wonderful in the next? It’s unfair, is what it is. Nick’s going to lodge a formal complaint.

“I think Sabrina’s good with her bottle at home with Uncle Ian and Sammy, but maybe we’ll bring her another time, sweetie,” Aimee says, smiling gently. “When she’s got teeth and all.”

Emma giggles but she stands up, coming over to give Nick a hug and clambering up to kiss his cheek. “Babies are weird,” she says. “All Sammy and Sabrina do is lie around and drink a lot and poo.”

“That’s about right,” Nick tells her. He kisses her nose and hitches her up, so her legs are wrapped around his waist and her hands are tugging on his hair. “You did nothing but poo constantly for nearly three years.”

“Ew,” Emma says. “I didn’t.”

“You very much did.”

“No, I would never – oh, look!” Emma screeches and shoves at Nick’s chest for him to put her down. Nick does confusedly – he looks over at Aimee who’s watching Emma bolt from the kitchen into the sitting room with a matching blank look on her face. “Dad, get the remote. It’s Uncle Harry!”

Nick chuckles quietly but grabs the remote and follows Emma, Aimee coming up close behind him. It’s indeed Harry on the telly, singing along to his latest radio hit and smiling slowly into the camera far too seductively for half eight on a Friday morning, if you ask Nick. He presses the volume just in time to catch the crowd’s roaring applause and see the pink flush Harry’s cheeks. Nick watches him duck his head as he gives a small wave to the audience, and it hits Nick that Harry is still the most humble and appreciative billionaire Nick’s ever met.

 _Good job, popstar_ , Nick thinks to himself. 

“Did you know he was back in London?” Aimee asks. She’s wandering around the room, picking up throw pillows from the floor and empty fruit snack containers left lying on the coffee table. Nick thinks maybe he’ll tidy when Emma is away for the night, but then he realizes that what he’ll most likely wind up doing is having a kip. Best laid plans and all that.

“I did,” Emma pipes up, turning away from her spot three inches from the telly to nod at Aimee. Her smile is so wide Nick wonders how her face hasn’t split in half. “He rang the other day. We’re going to have a _date_ soon.”

“A date,” Aimee says carefully. “Funny, from what I’d been told I didn’t think your Uncle Harry dated much.” She’s talking to Emma, but she’s looking at Nick. He can feel the heat of her stare, the weight of her tone.

Nick shakes his head. He’s not getting into this with her now, of all times, with his daughter not five metres away. “Not the time, Aims,” Nick warns.

“Hmm,” Aimee hums again, but Nick’s saved by Emma all but running from the room to go get her things for her big day and night out.

It’s quiet for a moment, and Nick uses the time to flick off the telly, Harry’s bright green eyes shining at him from the other side of a thousand camera lenses. “So have you spoken to him?” Aimee asks quietly.

“Of course,” Nick says. He wanders to his bedroom and opens the door where Puppy’s been sleeping with their newest addition, a pure white puffball kitten Emma has named Mouse. Puppy looks up when Nick snaps his fingers, then trots out to say hello, completely ignoring Nick in favor of Aimee when she spots her by the sofa. “He’s coming by on Tuesday to take Emma out for the day. I’ve not told her the date because if she knows she won’t sleep a wink until he gets here.”

Aimee’s quiet, scratching behind Puppy’s ears before she asks, “And you’re still all set for your date tonight? With, what’s his name again? Jonathan?”

“ _Justin_ ,” Nick corrects and frowns. “We’ve been out three times, Aims, I think it’s time you start remembering his name, yeah?”

Aimee snorts. The kitten pounces from Nick’s bedroom to chase some kind of invisible ball of fuzz, and Puppy leaps around in circles with the kitten for a few minutes while Nick watches fondly. He’s somehow wound up with the two most ridiculous pets in the entire universe. “I guess,” she finally says. “I just thought that maybe since Harry’s back—”

“Justin is who I’m dating,” Nick says firmly. “And Harry’s my mate. That’s all there is.” Aimee looks about to argue the point again, but Nick raises his hand and the sound of Emma bounding down the steps effectively puts an end to the entire conversation.

“I’m ready!” Emma shouts before she bursts into the room, a flash of bright red hair and a hot pink bow and a ridiculously mismatched outfit of yellow leggings and a purple polka dot top.

Nick beams. “You look just like your Auntie,” he tells her, and Emma giggles and dances around Aimee in circles.

“I know! I tried to match her! Did I do good?”

Nick laughs loudly. Aimee huffs and rolls her eyes, but her own shirt is orange and green stripes and her pants are bright blue. Nick doesn’t really think she’s got a good leg to stand on. “You did great,” Aimee tells her. “Now give your Dad a kiss, and we’ll call him later from the sleepover, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Emma drops her bag, and Nick crouches down to her height, accepting her slightly sniffly kiss and a tight hug. As much as Emma loves going out and doing big girl things, she’s still a bit of a mush when it comes to leaving Nick. Not that Nick’s complaining. The day Emma is happy to leave him is the day Nick starts drinking heavily and never stops.

“I love you, Daddy,” Emma says wetly.

Nick kisses her hard on the forehead and then peppers a bunch of tiny kisses all over her face and cheeks and neck. “I love you most, muffin.”

“More than soggy cereal?” Emma pulls back and giggles.

“ _Much_ more than soggy cereal.”

“More than the Sour Patch Kids Uncle Harry sends from the States?”

“More than Sour Patch Kids.”

Emma bites her lip. “More than bacon sarnies?”

“Hmm.” Nick pretends to think. “I mean. You might have to give me a minute for this one.”

“Dad!”

“All right! All right! More than all the bacon sarnies in the entire universe.”

Emma blinks. “Whoa. That’s a lot. Ok. I’ll ring you later from Aunt Aimee and Uncle Ian’s.”

Nick kisses her one last time before she bounces out the door with Aimee, and then he’s finally - except for the psychotic cat and dog - finally alone.

He picks one pillow up from the floor, tosses it on the sofa and calls it cleaning. Then he lies down and kips until noon.

*

Justin is great.

Nick met him at one of Finchy’s parties. He’s a friend of Finchy’s old flatmate’s sister’s cousin’s nephew or something like that; Nick’s never really paid attention that much. All he knows is that he’s in accounting and he’s fit and funny and younger than Nick and likes to have a few cocktails after they get dinner sometimes and it’s just. It’s nice. Justin’s nice. More than nice, even, he’s _great_ , so it makes no sense that Nick has no desire at all to fuck him.

Nick should _want_ to fuck him. Christ, it’s been so long he should be gagging for it, and the fact that he has a perfectly empty flat for the night and no excuses not to bring Justin home are very much in the forefront of his mind. Just thinking about it makes Nick tired though. He wonders when the idea of curling up with a bottle of wine on his sofa and watching the telly started to hold more appeal than shagging the insanely fit bloke he’s currently dating. It’s a sad, sad day today indeed.

“You’re food is all right, yeah?”

Nick looks up and finds Justin watching him from across the table with a confused quirk to his lips. Nick glances down at his still full dish of pasta and wonders how long he’s been zoned out thinking about not shagging his date after they finish their meal. From the looks of Justin’s nearly empty dish Nick gathers it’s been rather a while.

“It’s great, yeah,” Nick says and smiles around a bite of lukewarm pasta. He’s thinking this pink sauce was possibly better before it cooled off and started clumping together. This entire evening is the pits.

“So I’m guessing this should probably be it then,” Justin says flatly. He’s lifting the napkin from his lap and folding it neatly on the table. Nick glances at his mobile and reads the message from Aimee. _Emma was an absolute doll. Already in for the night, will ring you in the morning xxx_ , forcing a grimace onto his face as he looks up at Justin through the drooping swoop of his quiff.

“Yeah, this might have to be the night for me,” Nick says, slipping the mobile into his front pocket in case Justin has long distance sight and can manage to read it over the table. “Got a text from Aimee that Emma’s being fussy, something about her not wanting to go to sleep for the night without me around, and—“

“No,” Justin interrupts. He smiles at Nick sadly and reaches over to pat his hand on the table. “No, I mean, I’m thinking this should probably be _it_. For us.”

And, oh.

_Oh._

Nick flounders for a second, because all right, maybe he’s not completely interested in Justin, but he’s not _un_ interested either. He’s just—

“It doesn’t have to be,” Nick says, but his argument already sounds weak. He’s barely trying. “I mean, I could call you another time and—“

“But you won’t,” Justin says swiftly. He doesn’t seem angry, which is a plus. As much as Nick craves being the center of attention, in the middle of a crowded restaurant on a Friday night is hardly what he usually means. “It’s fine, Grimmy, really. It’s been a laugh. I’ve had fun, yeah? No hard feelings.”

Nick wants to argue, is the thing. He wants to fight, wants to tell Justin he’s wrong, that he’s imagining it all. He wants to _want_ to take Justin home and keep him there, trapped in Nick’s bed, until the last possible second tomorrow morning. 

But when it comes down to it he just _doesn’t_.

He looks up at Justin who’s stood at the edge of the table now, his perfect hair and gorgeous face and fit, fit body and thinks, _Nick Grimshaw, you are a bloody fucking idiot_ , but what he says is, “No hard feelings for sure. It’s been great.” He manages to smile as he watches Justin leave.

*

Aimee brings Emma back around half ten the next morning, and Nick’s managed to somehow run a load of laundry and mop both the kitchen and the lounge floors before she gets there. She comes barreling into the front door, a mess of red curls, a bright smile, and a brand new sparkling silver top that Nick frowns at, Aimee trailing behind her with a sheepish expression on her face.

“We had a shopping date,” she says defensively. Emma’s already rooting through the fridge and pulling out the bag of grapes Nick got at the grocers the other day. She shoves a few in her mouth and smiles brightly.

“Do you like my shirt? Olivia D in my class has one just like it.”

Nick frowns. “I thought Olivia D moved.”

“That’s Olivia _M_ ,” Emma says. She looks to Aimee and rolls her eyes. Aimee laughs and smoothes Emma’s hair back before kissing the top of her head.

“Ah, sorry. Can’t keep track of the many Olivia’s,” Nick replies, but Emma’s already wandered off to find Puppy and Mouse. 

Aimee’s advancing on him like a panther who’s just been tossed a hunk of raw meat. “Soooo.” She wiggles her eyebrows and digs her fingers into Nick’s arm to pull him closer. “How was your _daaaaate_?”

Nick should lie. He should make up some of the most disgusting and dirty things he’s ever thought of doing to a bloke and tell Aimee he did them all to Justin last night, right here, in the exact spot she’s standing. It would serve her right for being a nosy witch.

“Oh god,” Aimee sighs. She narrows her eyes and stares at him, pressing the tips of her nails into Nick’s arm until he yelps and tries to pull away. “You’ve mucked it all up again, haven’t you?”

“Aim--”

Aimee huffs. “I don’t know why I’m surprised, really.”

Nick yanks his arm back and concentrates on filling the dishwasher with anything that’s dirty in the sink that he can possibly make fit. 

“For all the _dating_ you do,” Aimee says, “You do seem keen on sabatoging anything that might come anywhere close to some sort of relationship.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Nick says. Aimee doesn’t look to be believing him, but he can hear Emma barreling around in her room upstairs and then the pounding of feet coming back down into the sitting room. Aimee looks set to argue, but Nick shakes his head and cuts her off. “Truly. He was nice, we had fun, now it’s over. No hard feelings, nothing to get over, all right?”

Aimee purses her lips together. “Fine,” she says in a tone that means she thinks it’s anything but. Emma bursts into the kitchen then, Puppy and Mouse trailing at her heels, and Nick thinks that possibly for the first time his daughter’s horrific sense of timing is actually working in his favor.

*

Harry texts Nick the next day, and Nick shows Emma the phone, helping her to sound out all the words so she can read the message herself.

_Emma beans! Are you excited for our date??? xx_

Emma blushes so furiously her cheeks and neck match the vibrant red of her hair, and she nods at the mobile as if Harry can somehow see. 

“Tell him yes. Write it fast, Daddy, so he sees it right away.”

 _She’s so excited I might have to borrow one of Puppy’s wee wee pads to keep under her until Tuesday_ , Nick writes back. 

Harry’s response is close to immediate. _She just knows a good thing when she sees it unlike her idiot father._

_Ha ha ha. Funny, Harold. As if I would believe you’d give up all the glitz and glamour for little old me_

He adds a tempura prawn emoji at the end of the message, along with an eggplant and a smiley face with X’s for eyes. Emma is bouncing on the sofa next to him, demanding to know what Nick and Harry are saying to each other, and he thanks his stars that she’s not that far along in reading that she can see what he’s actually written. 

_One day, Grimmy. One day you’ll stop turning me down xxx_

“What’d he say, Daddy? What did Uncle Harry say?”

Nick swallows past the lump in his throat and slides his mobile into the front pocket of his jeans. He’s just...he’s not going to think about that, not any of it. Not now.

“He says he misses you and can’t want to see your silly face,” he says and grabs Emma in a hug, burying his face in her hair and kissing her messily until she screeches and yells and runs away.

*

Harry gets to Nick’s flat at half ten Tuesday morning, which is both wonderful and terrible seeing as how Emma had woken Nick up before six to ask him if he thought Harry would like her hot pink lepoard print shirt or the green and yellow striped one with the glitter. Nick was half tempted to scour through the internet and find pictures for Emma of when Harry wore nothing but ripped t-shirts with a rag of plaid flannel tied around his stupid head but decided against it; pink leopard for the win any day. 

Emma’s been trying to play it cool since she pushed her breakfast around her plate an hour before, but the second she hears the bell ring she all but leaps from the sofa and tears across the flat, yanking open the locks and bolts and swinging the door open so fast Nick’s thankful she’s not managed to brain herself in the process. 

“I certainly hope that’s not a demented and scary serial killer you’ve just let into the flat, Emma Jane!” Nick shouts, but it’s too late. He can already hear Harry’s low rumbling voice and Emma’s delighted squeals, and he steels himself for seeing Harry for the first time in months as he turns the corner, and wow. Just. Just.

Just _wow_.

It amazes Nick how he can seem to always forget how attractive Harry is. Like it’s something that he knows intrinsically, but time and distance apart somehow seems to lessen the knowledge, make the idea of Harry a little less vibrant. Or maybe it’s just that his memory refuses to let him believe that he’s remembering correctly when he thinks about Harry; that he can’t possibly be as gorgeous and funny and caring and wonderful as his brain seems to insist on reminding Nick that he is. Like some kind of fit popstar self-preservation tactic. 

Maybe that’s it. 

Whatever the case Harry is here, in Nick’s hallway, looking as tall and broad and gorgeous as ever. He’s tan from travelling, and his hair is loose and floppy and hanging over his forehead. He’s in a tight black t-shirt, a pair of jeans, and trainers, but he still somehow manages to look like a rockstar, like wherever he is is the place you’ve always wanted to be. 

He beams at Nick, mouth chewing on a piece of gum, and steps into Nick’s space, wrapping his arms around Nick and hugging him tightly. 

“Hiya, Nick. Missed you,” Harry murmurs, and Nick doesn’t know what to say. 

He nods, hugs Harry back, and says, “Missed you too, popstar,” in Harry’s ear. Harry smells the same. It’s such a strange, stupid thing to notice, but Nick would think after ten plus years of knowing him maybe some things would be different. 

Apparently with Harry things will never be different. It’s both a comforting thought and also a bit terrifying. Nick’s refusing to think about it once more. 

Emma clears her throat from beside them, and Nick moves back when he feels her stepping on his foot and trying to insert herself between him and Harry in the hall. When he glances down he has to bite back a laugh at the frown on her face. Apparently Nick’s not the only one who’s easy for Harry’s attention.

“So, Princess Emma!” Harry says brightly, pulling away from Nick to crouch down on the floor in front of his daughter. Nick’s heart clenches almost painfully at the picture they make. The two people he loves most in the world together is nearly too much to bear. “Are you ready to run away and marry me yet?”

Emma giggles. “Uncle Harry, I’m SIX.” 

“Well maybe I’m just making sure for the future,” Harry says easily. “It’s never too early to state my intentions.” 

Emma rolls her eyes and taps her small foot. “No, sorry, I’m not going to get married,” she says flatly. 

Harry’s eyes boggle, and Nick shakes his head, pressing the heel of his hands against his eyes. 

“Emma,” he warns.

“Auntie Pix and Aunt Alexa say girls don’t need to marry boys, we can be just as successful without them,” Emma says firmly. “And I think they’re right, but…” she chews on her lip and widens her eyes. “But what does successful mean, Uncle Harry? Does it mean that one day I’ll have a telly in my room and my own iPhone? Because if it does then I want to be successful _now_.”

“Well!” Harry says brightly. “Um.” He stands up and is biting back a laugh as he looks at Nick. “Auntie Pix and Aunt Alexa sure are smart ladies.” 

“Auntie Pix and Aunt Alexa are actually off the babysitting list,” Nick says dryly. “But sure. We’ll go with smart.”

Emma rolls her eyes again, and Harry laughs as he ruffles her hair. “So you ready to go out for the day, munchkin?”

“Yes, please.”

“I figured we’d go get some food and then the zoo maybe?” Harry says, talking to Emma but looking up at Nick to make sure everything he’s saying is all right. Nick waves his hand. Emma’s probably safer with Harry then she is with Aimee half the time. At least Harry won’t go get a two hour long massage and pedicure and forget about Emma in the spa like she did that one time when Emma was little. Not that Nick’s been holding a grudge for four and a half years or anything. 

“And then a bit of shopping?” Harry adds.

“Ok, yes.” Emma nods so furiously her curls bounce up and down wildly. “And maybe ice cream?”

Harry gasps and holds a hand against his chest. “Have I _ever_ forgotten the ice cream?”

Nick rolls his eyes. Harry and Emma are so ridiculous together it’s disgusting. 

“My friend Paul is going to come with us again if that’s all right?” Harry asks Emma. She tilts her head consideringly. “You remember Paul, yeah? Big guy, chubby face.”

“Is he the one who let me put my glitter eyeshadow on him the last time I saw you?”

“Exactly the same,” Harry answers, and Nick would officially give one thousand pounds to see Paul Higgins in Emma’s glittery eyeshadow. 

“If that happens again I want pictures,” Nick murmurs to Harry.

“What makes you think I don’t have pictures of the last time?” Harry says back, and Nick has to bite back a laugh. 

“All right, poppet. You be a good girl for Uncle Harry today, yeah?” Nick picks Emma up and swings her around, kissing her cheeks and forehead and face. “Call me if you need anything.”

“We’ll be fine, Daddy,” Emma says, already scrambling down and tugging at Harry’s hand to start dragging him from the flat. “Come on, Uncle Harry, let’s _go_.”

Harry laughs but allows himself to be pulled, flailing his arms and legs wildly just to make Emma laugh harder. “I’ll have her back by supper?”

“Whenever is fine.” Nick waves his hand in the air. “She’s been dying to see you. As soon as she starts driving you crazy give me a ring and let me know you’re heading back.”

“Will do.” Harry beams and waves. “See you later!”

“Bye, Daddy!” Emma calls, and then they’re off.

*

Nick’s day is filled with text messages that go like this:

_I have never seen a small child eat so much bacon in all my life_

_Your daughter is telling me I look like the walruses (walrei???) at the zoo and I am unimpressed_

_Is that even a compliment? Have you ever seen a fit walrus?_

_Seriously HOW DOES SHE EAT SO MUCH???_

_Don’t be mad at the jacket I just bought her. She really loved it and I’m sure the leather isn’t nearly as rare as the shop lady said it was xxx_

_Paul wants you to know you’ve raised a demon spawn and even though she looks sweet she is actually evil (pics to follow :D )_

_We’re on the way home, she’s passed out in the back of the car. Leave the front door unlocked xx_

By the time Harry’s gotten back with Emma it’s nearly nine at night, and Nick’s already changed into his sleep bottoms and one of his rattiest t-shirts. Harry comes in as quietly as his giant clomping feet will allow, Emma passed out and draped over the front of his body, her thin arms wound around his neck. 

“Hey,” Harry whispers. 

Nick jumps up from the sofa and starts the process of untangling his daughter from the popstar currently stood in his sitting room. “Hi. Everything all right?”

“Great, yeah. We had so much fun.”

Harry nearly manages to transfer Emma over without waking her, but as soon as Nick starts to move toward the steps she wakes up, shifting restlessly in his arms. “Daddy?”

“Hiya, pumpkin,” Nick says quietly. 

Emma rubs her face against his shoulder and yawns. “Is Uncle Harry still here?”

Nick turns around, and Harry’s standing awkwardly in his hallway. He takes a step closer when Nick nods him over, kissing the top of Emma’s head and making her giggle.

“I’m here, princess. Did you have fun today?”

“The most fun ever,” she says sleepily. “Are you sleeping here? Will you be here in the morning?”

Harry glances up at Nick and raises his eyebrows. Nick shrugs, mouths _if you want to_ , and Harry grins so quick and bright Nick nearly stumbles backward. 

“Definitely. I’ll see you in the morning, all right?”

Emma nods and Nick starts up the stairs to her room. “Night Uncle Harry,” she says quietly. 

“Night, Em.”

It only takes a few minutes to help Emma out of her clothes and into a clean set of pjs and then Nick is back downstairs and greeted by the sight of Harry laying sprawled across his entire sofa, trainers and socks off and his feet shoved under the big purple cushion at the end. He’s scratching Puppy behind the ears where she’s lying on the floor and flicking the telly remote with the other hand. 

“Is there anything even on tonight?”

“Aside from the show I was watching before you decided to change the channel?” Nick says flatly. “Not too sure, Harold.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “That episode of Nigella was so old even I’ve seen it, and I’ve been on tour for nearly ten months. There’s no way in the world you’ve not seen it before.”

Nick huffs. “Well that’s not the point.”

He shoves Harry’s feet to the floor and pushes the cushions into the corner of the sofa, adjusting them against his back and leaning in. Harry yawns loudly, just barely managing to cover his mouth with his hand, and he glares in Nick’s direction when Nick laughs at him softly. 

“What?” Harry asks.

“Nothing!” Nick beams. “She wore you out though? Are you regretting taking her out for the day?”

“No, Nick, not at all,” Harry rushes to say. “I had the best time. She’s just - she’s _so_ smart and funny and you can have like, real conversations with her and just like. She’s great. Really great.” He yawns again though, this time louder than the last. “I’m just - wow. I’m just really kind of tired.”

Nick pats Harry’s foot. “Wait here; I’ll go get a blanket and some pillows for you.”

Harry smiles at him sleepily. “That’d be great.”

By the time Nick comes back from the cupboard Harry’s stripped off his shirt and is lounging in just his unbuttoned jeans. Nick tries not to stare, but he’s not seen Harry in so long and there’s so much different mixed in with all the familiar. He can still see Harry’s bird tattoos and the butterfly, but there’s so much more now; a big tree with winding limbs curling all the way down his left side, and a patch of words in a loopy script on the curve of his other shoulder. 

Harry smiles and takes the pillows and blankets gratefully. “Thanks,” he says. “For everything today. Letting me go out with Em and then stay over and just - it’s been great. It really means a lot.”

“Ugh, shut up, Styles.” Nick refuses to meet Harry’s eyes; god knows what he’d do if he could see the sincere way Harry’s most likely looking at him right now. “You know she adores you. She’s missed you like mad.”

Harry grabs onto Nick’s wrist and tugs him closer. Nick stumbles a little on the carpet but rights himself before he topples over and on top of Harry on the sofa. “I’ve missed her, too. Missed both of you, actually.” The silence is thick between them. Harry licks his lips and holds Nick’s gaze steadily. “You know, you could stay down here for a bit if you want. I mean, I’d like that, if you wanted to.”

And that’s...that’s more than Nick wants to deal with right now. Or ever, really, but definitely not right now. He carefully disentangles his fingers from Harry’s, giving Harry’s hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away. “Thanks, Haz, but I think I’m going to head to bed myself if that’s ok with you.”

Harry nods and looks away. “Yeah, sure. That’s fine.”

Nick flicks the light off as he walks away, Harry’s quiet, “Good night, Nick,” trailing after him as he wanders down the hall and off to sleep.

*

Nick wakes in the morning to the smell of toast burning and the sound of Emma’s near hysterical giggles filling the otherwise quiet of the flat. He panics for a split second, because Emma - why is she up and cooking and apparently burning down their home, and-- 

And then it hits him and he remembers just as he hears the loud burst of Harry’s laughter booming against the walls in his kitchen. 

Nick pulls himself from bed, rubbing his eyes and shoving his glasses on his face before stumbling into the loo and then down the hall into the kitchen which is most definitely filled with the scent of percolating coffee and burning toast and the sight of Emma sat on the counter in her pjs, Harry fully dressed and poking her in the side as she giggles and helps him crack eggs into a bowl. 

“Morning, everyone,” Nick says and both of their heads whip around, twin smiles greeting him from the other side of the room. 

“Goooood morning,” Harry says, dimples poked hard into his cheeks. Emma smiles and waves, and Nick wanders over, messing up her hair and kissing her on the nose. 

“Me and Uncle Harry are making eggs!”

“Uncle Harry and I.” Nick ignores the way the both of them are rolling their eyes at him. He peers over into the toaster, and Harry flails trying to cover it with his arm while he’s whisking eggs in a bowl. 

“Don’t look,” Harry says quickly. “There was a bit of a toast mishap--”

“Toast mishap?”

“But it’s all taken care of now, isn’t it, Miss Emma?” Harry pokes Emma in the leg, and she laughs and shoves Nick away with her tiny hands. Nick notices that her fingernails are painted a sparkling pink, and he knows for certain they weren’t when she left the house yesterday morning. He realizes that at some point during their day yesterday Harry brought her to get her nails done, and the idea of that is so sweet and thoughtful and _Harry_ Nick has to look away. He busies himself with fixing a cup of coffee so he doesn’t have to think about it too much. 

“So how long do we have you for, popstar?” Nick asks instead. Harry is quiet for a minute, and when Nick looks up he’s biting his lip and concentrating far too seriously for the amount of egg whisking he’s doing. 

“Erm, just a bit this morning, I’m afraid,” he says quietly, and over Emma’s whines and protests and the stupid thudding of disappointment in his own chest Nick manages to remind himself: this. This is why you can’t do this. This is why you have to stop thinking about Harry in any way other than you do right now, as just a friend you can see sometimes when he’s around. Nothing more. 

Nick forces a smile on his face and takes a sip of his coffee. It’s too hot and burns his throat on the way down. “And where are you jet setting off to this time?” he asks easily. Emma is pouting, and Nick realizes he’s going to be spending the rest of the day being overly happy and cheerful to try and bring her out of the funk she’s going to be in after Harry leaves. Lovely. 

“Nowhere, really.” Harry dumps the eggs in the pan and they start to sizzle quietly. “I thought I mentioned before; I’m done with touring for like, a year. Going to be based in London for most of the time. I’ve just got some promo and stuff to do at the offices.”

“Booooo,” Emma chants. “That sounds _boring_. You should stay here with me and Daddy instead.”

Harry scrambles the eggs in the pan and then slides them off the hob, clicking off the heat. “I would love nothing more,” Harry says, reaching over to lift her off the counter and spin her around in a circle before putting her feet back onto the floor. “And I’ll be back soon, I promise. We still have, what, a movie date you wanted to go on and a museum date and what else?”

“A playground date and an art shop date and a bakery date and a--”

“Emma, really,” Nick says as she ticks away prospective dates on her fingers. “I’m sure Uncle Harry has loads of other things he needs to be doing on his days off, all right?”

Emma pouts, and Harry frowns as he plates the eggs, sliding them onto the table and sitting across from Nick’s usual spot. “Not really,” Harry says. “I’m going to have lots of free time and no one to spend it with so if you’re free, Miss Emma…” he trails off and waggles his eyebrows. Nick refuses to be charmed by Harry even if Emma is completely smitten with him. 

“Well we’ll just see how everything pans out, yeah?” Nick says. Emma’s already gone off the conversation, and Nick looks down at his plate, focuses on eating his food even as he can feel Harry’s gaze on him, heavy across the table. 

*

It’s a few nights later when Aimee comes over to watch Emma, so Nick can go on a date with Fearne’s old uni roommate's brother’s friend's cousin’s uncle, or summat. Nick’s not really sure what the connection is. All he knows is Fearne showed him a picture on her mobile, and the only thought in Nick’s head was, _Holy biceps, Batman_ and had Fearne set something up. 

“So how was Emma’s date with Harry?” Aimee asks after Emma is settled in bed for the night. Nick had purposely arranged to meet the bloke (Richard, he thinks his name is. He’ll have to text Fearne on his way out to make sure) after Emma went to bed because she’s been weepy and mushy for the few days since Harry had left. Harry’s called and texted multiple times every day since, but that’s barely acceptable to a six year old with a crush.

“It was lovely,” Nick says. He checks his hair in the mirror. It’s a bit high tonight but the pale grey jumper he’d chosen is a bit dull so he’s making up for his poor fashion choices with super erect hair. It’s fine. Really. “They had a smashing time. He spoiled her rotten for ten hours straight, then he brought her home, stayed the night and crushed her heart and all of her spirit into a million pieces when he left the next day, leaving it all to me to make everything better.”

Aimee rolls her eyes. “Glad to see you’re not exaggerating or anything.”

Nick has no idea why he’s had the same conversation with Aimee about Harry Styles for the past ten years. Not that Nick is anti-Harry - for the love of the Queen, Harry is Nick’s best mate. Nick loves him more than almost anybody - but for some reason whenever Nick and Aimee are together and the subject of Harry Styles comes up they spend half the time disagreeing and sniping at each other about him. 

“Never really understood why you’re so _pro-popstar_ anyway,” Nick mutters. He stuffs his wallet in the back pocket of his trousers and rummages around looking for his keys on the kitchen counter. He glances into the sitting room and watches Aimee polish off the first bottle of wine he’d put out for her, her legs stretched out onto his coffee table. “Ian knows what he’s doing with the twins tonight, yeah? You’re all right to get proper pissed on my couch and sleep over if you need?”

Aimee waves her hand around in the air. “They’re nearly a year old, Grimmy. If Ian can’t figure out which end the nappy goes on by now we’re all fucked.”

“Yes, well. Anyway.”

“And I’m not, whatever you said, _pro-popstar_ or anything. I just. I think he’s a nice lad, and I think he cares about you. He cares about Emma, and I think he’d want to make a proper go of it if you’d give him half a chance.”

Nick laughs. “Ha. Ha haha. I’m laughing, Aimee Phillips. D’ya see this?” He points to his chin and grins maniachally. “This is my laughing face.”

Aimee shakes her head and flicks through the channels on the telly. “That’s your idiot face. I’ve gotten quite used to it over the years. It’s hardly the first time I’ve seen it."

Nick’s doing his best to ignore anything else she’s said, because thinking about Harry - Harry and Nick, the two of them together in any sense of the word is not anything Nick should be thinking about ever, let alone when he’s on his way out on a date with another bloke. Aimee’s turned to watch Nick curiously, but Nick just shakes his head and makes his way to the door, hand held up when it looks like she’s about to say something else. 

“It’s not going to happen, Aims,” Nick says quietly. He makes the mistake of catching her eye and hates the way she’s looking at him, like it hurts Nick to have to say things like this. He’d be able to stop saying them if she’d stop bloody bringing them up. He should remind her of that. “Harry’s my mate, and I’m glad he’s going to be back for a bit but that’s all, yeah? That’s all it’s ever going to be.”

Aimee doesn’t look like she agrees with him in the slightest, but she does him a favor and just waves him off, let’s him leave and doesn’t say any anything else as he walks out the door.

*

Richard is...fine. 

He’s sweet and friendly and he seems to genuinely think Nick is hilarious which is usually one of the first characteristics Nick looks for in a date. He’s tall and blond and insanely fit and Nick should be thrilled he’s out with him. He _is_ thrilled he’s out with him. 

It’s just that.

It’s just that he can’t stop bloody fucking _thinking_ now, now that Aimee’s got him all started. He keeps looking at Richard and comparing him to Harry, which is stupid and pointless and unfair, but well, that’s what’s happening so Nick’s going to have to go with it. 

The problem is that Richard is fine until Nick compares him to Harry and then…

Well. Then he’s just a bloke. A handsome one at that, but still. He’s too nice, too, and sweet, but too soft spoken to be like Harry. He thinks Nick is funny, but he’s not funny on his own, not like Harry is. Nick’s not heard one terrible pun or knock knock joke since he got here, not like he would if he were out with Harry instead. 

And while Richard is attractive, he’s too polished. He’s all neatly pressed shirt and crisp trousers and shiny shoes, and Nick can’t stop thinking of Harry with his dark green t-shirt with the hole in the shoulder, and his tatty jeans and his brown boots that are so beat up they look like they’ve literally toured the world on their own by walking from one continent to the next. 

Neither Nick nor Richard seem surprised when Nick declines going out after dinner for a nightcap. 

By the time he’s home, Aimee is curled up under a blanket on his sofa, snoring so loudly Nick videos it, makes a Vine, and takes pictures from six different angles before posting them all onto the internet. He heads into his room and busies himself with checking on Emma (who is fine) and the dog and the cat (who are sleeping) and the windows (which are all locked), and it’s not until he’s stripped down to his pants and lying in bed that he gets to thinking about Harry again, because. Well. Because it’s always kind of been about Harry.

It’s not that Nick has never wanted to be with him - if anything it’s exactly the opposite. And it’s not like nothing had ever happened between the two of them, because they’ve been friends for more than ten years and way back in the beginning, in the early days of their friendship before Harry was touring the world and Nick was settling down and adopting a baby they were, well. They were _them_. 

They were _NickandHarry_ , and that meant that they went out together and stayed in together and went away together and sometimes they snogged and a few times they shagged but that was it. It was never anything more. Nick started getting to the point where he wanted something more stable, something permanent, and that was exactly when Harry’s life was anything but. He was finishing up touring with the lads and then making a go of touring on his own, and things just got crazy. 

It was difficult, and Harry worked _so hard_ for it. Nick would never fault him for that. He couldn’t. But it wasn’t possible to keep up a relationship with someone ten years his junior and just making a name for themselves as a solo artist, so anything they had that was just for the two of them, just kind of...stopped.

Not stopped being friends - never that - but they stopped fooling around, stopped pretending this was something that either of them could really make a proper go at. Harry went off on a year-long tour then, and Nick took the opportunity to start the paperwork for Emma. By the time he got to see Harry again they were both settled into their two very different lives, and that was fine. It was good. They were still friends, and Harry adored Emma. It was fine for Nick. It was enough. 

It was. 

Except for nights like tonight when Nick goes out with someone who’s just _not_ enough, someone who’s missing whatever that extra thing is that Harry has that makes him so special, and then Nick thinks that maybe it’s just always going to be like this. Nick not being able to have Harry but not able to stop comparing everyone else to him either. 

“Well that’s a fucking depressing thought,” Nick mumbles, then punches his pillow a bit more forcefully than necessary and tosses and turns until he falls asleep.

*

“Sammy’s gone and puked in my hair.”

Nick stares at the mobile in his hand. “I’m sorry?”

“And then Sabrina did it in some kind of, I don’t know, bullshit sibling solidarity thing.”

Nick rolls his lips into his mouth to try and keep from laughing. He remembers the days when Emma was small - the sleepless nights and shirts covered in dried food and sour milk and vom at all hours of the day. He loves his daughter, but sometimes he thinks back and wonders how he managed to get through the first few years of her life. He can barely remember them, actually. It must be some sort of self preservation thing the brain does that makes you forget just how disgusting your children were when they were small in case you’re ever crazy enough to want to do it again. 

And he didn’t have _two_ at the same time. Sometimes he stops by Aimee and Ian’s and sees the twins rolling around on the floor together - laughing and screaming and crying and playing - and by the time he gets home he needs a nap, just from watching them.

“Well, at least you’ve got Ian to help you,” Nick says, trying to be helpful until the sound of Ian retching somewhere in the background of their flat filters through the speaker. “Or not.”

“God, Nick, I’m so sorry, but I don’t think there’s any way I’m going to be able to get there tonight,” Aimee starts, and Nick is already dropping his keys back into the bowl by the front door and shrugging his jacket off. “What with the puke and all the, the _puke_.”

“Aimee, really, it’s not a big deal, just some stupid blind date Pix had set me up on; I’ve never even met the bloke.” To be honest now that the idea is out there Nick might actually enjoy a night off. Emma’s in the sitting room watching last week’s Great British Bake Off already. He could change into a pair of joggers and be cuddled on the sofa with her in five minutes flat. 

“I feel like shit though,” Aimee whines. “I know you’ve been trying to date more, and I’m just the worst friend to cancel on you last minute and--”

Nick’s halfway through the flat when the doorbell rings, and he turns around to look at it suspiciously. “Hang on a second, Aims.”

“I’ve got it, Daddy!” Emma’s voice rings through the flat. “I’ve got it, I’ve got it, I’ve got it--”

“Emma, wait,” Nick shouts then says into the mobile, “Aimee, I’ve got to go. Good luck with all the vom,” and rings off. One day his child is literally going to let an axe murderer into their flat and they’ll both be dead. Nick should prepare his tombstone now: Here lies Nick Grimshaw. His daughter had the sense of a tin of beans and invited their killer in for tea one night. 

“Emma Jane, you’re not to open that door unless I tell you it’s ok so--”

“UNCLE HARRY!!!”

And, oh. Harry’s here. Well, all right.

By the time Nick’s at the front door Harry’s already inside, Emma taking his jacket from him and chattering his ear off, as if they’d somehow left off in the middle of a conversation three weeks ago and she’s just picking it up now. Which. Who knows, maybe they did. 

Harry looks up from his crouch on the floor, smiling at Nick brilliantly. His hair is pushed back from his head under a dark grey beanie and his cheeks are flushed warm and pink. Nick waves and shoves his mobile into his pocket. He waits until Harry’s stood up with Emma hanging from his left trouser leg to say, “Hiya, Harry. Just passing by?”

“Yeah,” Harry says easily and smiles. He ruffles Emma’s hair, and she giggles and hugs his leg tighter. “Was coming by to see what you two were up to tonight. Thought maybe we could all go out and get some ice cream.”

“Yes, that sounds _great_ ,” Emma says before Nick even has a chance to open his mouth. He frowns down at his six year old and folds his arms over his chest. 

“Really, miss. You honestly think we’re all going somewhere tonight, right now. Just putting on our jackets at half eight and wandering around the town looking for ice cream or summat.”

“Well, not _all_ of us.” Emma huffs and rolls her eyes. She turns to Harry and loudly whispers, “Daddy has a date, so he can’t come.”

Harry’s mouth opens a little and he flicks his eyes to Nick awkwardly. “Oh. Um. Sorry. I didn’t know. Am I interrupting something, or--”

“No, nothing of the sort.” Nick sighs. If he had to make a list of the top three people he’d have liked to never have to discuss his dating habits with Harry would probably have landed in all three spots. “I’d had a date set up, but Aimee had to cancel coming over to watch Emma so I was just about to ring him and--”

“I can do it,” Harry says quietly. “I mean, I’m here anyway, and I was mostly stopping by to see Emma anyway. I can stay with her,” he says and smiles thinly. 

Emma lifts her chin and blows Nick a raspberry. “See? Uncle Harry was only here to see me anyway.”

Nick is possibly going to ground her until she’s thirty-five.

“Well it doesn’t matter much, Miss priss, because I’m not going,” Nick says. “I’m going to call Dan or Dave or whatever his name is and reschedule on a day when Sammy and Sabrina decide not to puke all over Aunt Aimee’s head.”

Emma giggles, but Harry gapes at him. It’s not until Nick raises a questioning eyebrows that Harry says, “Dan or Dave or whatever his name is?”

“It’s a blind date,” Nick says sheepishly. “Pixie set it up and--”

Harry cuts him off by handing him his jacket and bustling him toward the door. “Go.”

“Harry, I--”

“You can’t cancel a first date, Nick. That’s shit.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Nick mutters. 

Emma wanders over and slides her hand into Harry’s and curls her fingers tightly. Her hair is a crazy mess, bright red curls sticking up in every direction, and she smiles at Nick almost smugly. “You should go, Daddy. Have fun. Me and Uncle Harry will play and eat ice cream and have loads of fun when you’re not here.”

Nick glances over at Harry who’s smiling, but even Nick knows it looks a bit forced. “Haz...”

“Listen,” Harry says again, “I’m staying no matter what. So you can either stay here and play Barbie Bingo with us, or you can go out on your date, yeah?” And all right, fine. If no one wants him here anyway…

“I won’t be home late,” Nick says as he bends down to kiss Emma goodnight. “Be a good girl and go to bed when Uncle Harry says it’s time.”

“Ok, Daddy,” Emma lies right to his face. It’s fine. Nick’s used to it by now. He looks up at Harry one last time, but Harry’s already turned away, pulling Emma after him into the kitchen. “Thanks again, Haz,” Nick calls, and Harry waves his hand over his head and then disappears into the kitchen.

*

Harry’s still awake when Nick gets home just after eleven, a blanket pulled up to his waist and the light from the telly flickering across his features as he lies stretched out on Nick’s sofa. He’s got Puppy at his feet and Mouse in his lap, and he’s scratching behind the cat’s ears sleepily, his other hand running idly through his hair. 

Nick nearly stops breathing with how gorgeous he is. 

He lets the door click shut softly, and Harry startles, sitting up a little to peer over the back of the sofa. Nick smiles and gives him a wave. Harry smiles tightly back, and his eyes flicker over Nick’s face before he drops his head down again.

“Hey,” Harry says quietly. He clears his throat, and Mouse jumps from his lap and onto the floor, stalking away with a haughty look over her shoulder. Bloody cat. “How was your date?”

 _Boring_ , Nick wants to say. _Dull. Uneventful. I’m still not quite sure if his name was Dan or Dave._ “It was fine,” he says instead. “Lovely. Best date I’ve ever had.”

Harry snorts. “Riiiight. And that’s why you’re home before midnight.”

Nick gasps and presses a hand against his chest. “Harold, I’m hurt.”

“Really.”

“ _Really_. Wounded, even,” Nick makes his way to the sofa and shoves Harry’s gangly legs out of the way to make room to sit down. Puppy yips, and Nick shushes her, pats her on the behind until she shuffles off to her doggy bed. “Are you implying that it would only be a good date if I’d have gone back to his for a drunken shag? Is that the kind of boy that you think I am?”

Harry laughs loudly and claps a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. “Did you ever even find out his name?”

“ _Yes_.” Harry’s grinning at him, lips curved in an obnoxious smirk. Nick doesn’t know why they’re friends, really he doesn’t. “His name is _Dan_ ,” Nick says, then frowns. “Or Dave. I mean. Dan, Dave, they’re so close, yeah? Practically the same person.”

Harry is laughing now, trying to muffle the sound into the crook of his arm. Nick kicks him. Obnoxious popstar on his sofa; rude is what he is. “Oh, piss off, Harry,” he grumbles.

“Oh god, I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” Harry says when Nick kicks him again, this time even harder. “It’s just - your face! You look so irritated!”

“Well _yes_ ,” Nick says and rolls his eyes. He’d not planned on getting into this now, with Harry, or pretty much ever at all, but apparently this is a thing they’re doing. “I keep going out, night after night, trying to find _someone, anyone_ who’s not boring, or bland, or near puts me to sleep with any one of their mundane stories. I just - I want to find someone and have something with someone, and I keep getting set up and it’s just - time after time it’s just not working. It’s tiring and frustrating and stupid. I just keep looking for something, and it’s irritating how it’s _never bloody working_.”

Harry’s quiet when Nick finishes. Nick’s breathing hard, cheeks warm and fingers curled against the palms of his hands. He’d not meant to get so worked up but it’s crap, is what it is, the way he keeps dating and dating and never finding anyone special. Complete and utter crap. 

“Maybe you’re trying too hard,” Harry says after a quiet minute, and Nick sighs, leans back into the sofa and drops his head against the cushions. 

“I guess.”

“Maybe you just…” Harry trails off. Nick rolls his head to the side and blinks his eyes open. “Maybe you’re not looking in the right places,” Harry says quietly. 

Nick closes his eyes and rolls his head back. 

“Maybe,” he whispers. 

It’s so quiet Nick can hear the click and hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. He can hear Puppy making snuffling noises in her sleep and Emma’s low snores over the monitor Harry’s got perched on the coffee table. He forces his eyes open, and Harry’s not looked away. He licks his lips and says, “Do you ever think about it?”

Nick could pretend not to know what Harry means, but it’s late and he’s tired. “Sometimes,” he says honestly. 

“Do you ever wonder what would have happened?” Harry says softly. “With us, I mean.”

And no. No, no, no. Nick’s not emotionally prepared to have this conversation right now, or tonight, or anytime in the near future. He’s just - he’s not. He smiles at Harry gently and pats his leg as he stands up, ignoring the last thing Harry had said and not giving him an answer. 

“Thanks for staying with Emma tonight,” Nick says instead. Harry huffs and looks away. He’s chewing on his lip and looks to be biting back a million other things he wants to be saying. “I appreciate it.”

“Yeah,” Harry says softly as Nick walks away. “Yeah, anytime.”

*

Nick wakes in the morning to Emma and Harry singing along to the Tangled soundtrack, and he pulls his pillow over his face for a solid fifteen minutes before mustering up the energy to get out of bed. By the time he makes it to the kitchen the two of them are waltzing around the living room, Emma in Harry’s arms in her Tinkerbell pjs and Harry’s shirtless in an old pair of Nick’s flannel pyjama bottoms with his hair sticking up in five different directions. 

They don’t notice him for a minute, and Nick just stands and watches. He watches the way Emma beams at Harry, the way he spins and dips her, kissing her cheek and her eyes and the tip of her nose, and Nick’s heart thumps almost painfully behind his ribs.

“Eh hem,” Nick clears his throat, leaning his shoulder against the doorway. Harry pulls up short, whipping Emma around in a wide circle, and she screeches and flails her arms in the air. 

“Uncle Harry! What are you doing!”

Harry glances at Nick and smiles, but it barely reaches his eyes. “Say good morning to your dad, Beanbag.”

“Oh, hi, Daddy.” Emma shoves the curls back from her face and smiles at him sweetly. “I didn’t see you there. Me and Uncle Harry are dancing.”

“I see that,” Nick says. Harry puts Emma on the ground and she runs over, hugging Nick around the waist until Nick bends down and kisses the top of her head. 

“I made coffee,” Harry says, voice sounding falsely cheerful. 

Nick looks up at him and smiles, and yep. That’s the worst fake smile he’s ever seen on Harry’s face.

Nick ignores it. “Thanks,” he says.

Emma trails after Nick as he makes his way into the kitchen. There’s a mug on the counter with the sugar bowl next to it and the milk sitting beside the cup. He fiddles with his coffee, half listening to Emma’s chatter about everything she and Harry did and listened to and watched the night before. Nick doesn’t realize how much he’s zoned out until he feels Emma patting his leg, and he looks down to find her frowning at him, arms crossed tightly over her chest. 

“You’re not listening to me,” she pouts. “I’m asking you _questions_.”

Harry tries and fails to hide his laugh behind a cough and Nick shoots him a glare before crouching down to look Emma in the eye. “I apologize, poppet. Just trying to get my coffee ready. Now what is it you were saying; I heard about the ice cream and the bingo and the coloring and the staying up well past your bedtime.”

Emma’s eyes widen before she whips her head in Harry’s direction to glare at him. “You said you weren’t going to tell.”

“I didn’t!” Harry holds his hands in the air. “Your dad must have figured it out. I would never tell him one of our secrets.”

Emma watches him carefully for another moment and Nick tries his best not to laugh. Harry Styles is being schooled by his six year old daughter. If only the tabloids could see him now. 

“Anyway,” Emma says, flipping her hair to the side and nearly whacking Nick in the face with it as she turns back to him in the process. “I was _asking_ how your _date_ was.”

“Ahh.” Nick stands back up and pats the top of her head. “It was fine, Em. Nothing special. Now why don’t we--”

“Because I had an _idea_ , you see, and it’s _great_.”

Nick warily looks back at Emma who’s grinning at him toothily. He glances at Harry who looks just as confused as Nick feels. Harry shrugs and Nick shrugs back. “All right, then. What’s your idea, little miss.”

“ _I_ think that you should date Uncle Harry,” she says, and oh. Oh _no_. “Like, and he should date you. You should date each other.”

Nick feels like he might be sick. He’s barely had three sips of coffee, and they’re already threatening to make their way back up. “Ha,” Nick laughs, and it sounds slightly hysterical even to his own ears. “Ha ha ha. Em. That’s. That’s sweet, but--”

“But what?” Harry interrupts. He’s got his arms folded and his chin raised in the air. “I think it’s a great idea. Emma, you’re brilliant,” he says to her, and she beams back at him. “Me and your dad _should_ date.”

“Oh god,” Nick groans. “Stop being ridiculous, Harry.”

Emma scrunches her nose up. “Why is it ridiculous?”

“Yeah, Nick,” Harry says. “Why is it?”

“Because!” Nick splutters. “I’m sure Uncle Harry has better things to do with his time than hang around with the two of us, Em.”

“I don’t, actually,” Harry says shortly. 

Nick frowns. “I’m sure you do.”

“I’m pretty sure I _don’t_ ,” Harry says. His teeth are clenched so tightly Nick wonders how he’s managing to make any sound come out at all.

“Yes, Harry, I’m sure you--”

“Hel _lo_!”

Everyone’s heads whip around as the front door opens then slams shut, and Aimee comes wandering through the flat and into the kitchen. “I finally managed to get the puke out of my hair and figured I’d come over here and see if Miss Emma wanted to go to breakfast since I missed our-- oh! Oh, _Hi_ , Harry!”

Aimee’s stopped short at the sight of Harry standing shirtless in Nick’s kitchen, the tension between them all thick in the air. She grins and snaps her gum, shooting a look under her lashes that not so loosely translates to, _Nick Grimshaw, when I’m done here you’re going to tell me EVERYTHING_ , and Nick sighs and looks away. 

“Hey, Aimee.” Harry goes to hug her hello as Emma latches onto her leg. 

“Aunt Aimee! I missed you last night, but then Uncle Harry stopped over and he watched me instead.”

Aimee raises a sharply penciled on eyebrow. “Did he now?”

“Yes.” Emma nods and continues to babble. “So Daddy went out on his date but then today he said it wasn’t anything special which is _great_ because you know why?”

“Oh god, Emma, please.” Nick pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to interrupt, but Emma just keeps talking. 

“Because I decided last night that Daddy should date _Uncle Harry_ ,” Emma says proudly. Aimee barks out a laugh, and Nick glares at her. “Isn’t that so smart?”

“SO smart,” Aimee says. Nick really, truly hates her. 

“Because Uncle Harry is here all the time _anyway_ , and they always have fun together. I don’t know why Daddy won’t just take Uncle _Harry_ to dinner the way he takes other people to dinner.”

“I don’t understand it either, actually,” Harry pipes in with, and that’s it. Nick’s officially had enough. 

“Emma. You. Upstairs to get dressed if you want to go anywhere with Aunt Aimee ever again.”

Emma huffs but leaves the room, clomping up the stairs with Puppy and Mouse trailing behind her. 

“You.” Nick points to Aimee, whose face is so red from trying to hold in her laughter Nick hopes she actually explodes. “You shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

Nick sighs. “And you,” he says to Harry who’s still standing there watching him, arms crossed and hair flopping messily over his forehead. “Just. Just put a bloody shirt on, and we’ll talk after Emma leaves, yeah?”

Harry’s quiet for a moment, and Nick wonders if he doesn’t want to, if this has all been too little too late. Harry finally nods his head and pushes off the wall. “Yeah. Fine.”

He leaves the room, and Nick looks at his coffee cup. He’s still not managed to finish drinking his first cup of coffee. He needs about a pot and a half for the conversation he’s about to have with Harry. Everything in his life is completely unfair. 

“I’m going to go get Em,” Aimee says, coming up behind him and curling her hand over Nick’s shoulder. Nick nods and hangs his head down. He takes a deep breath. “Good luck,” she says and kisses him on the cheek.

“Thanks. I think I’m going to need it.”

 

*

Harry’s waiting in the kitchen for Nick after Aimee whisks Emma away for the morning with a psychotic, “You’re going to tell me what happens later and _not leave out any of the details_ ,” hissed into Nick’s ear. Harry’s dressed now, thank the gods, because Nick’s not sure he’d be able to have a conversation of any kind of importance with Harry while looking at his bare, tanned, tattooed chest.

He’s sat across from Nick’s seat, hands folded primly and resting on the table. Nick sits down in his own chair cautiously. Harry’s got his eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. 

Nick looks around the room nervously. “So, Harry, would you like tea or a glass of water or a bottle of wine, or--”

“Why do you think we shouldn’t date?”

And oh. Starting with the big guns. All right. Nick can handle this. 

“Harry,” Nick says calmly. He spreads his hand wide and holds them in the air. 

And then he realizes he has no idea what else to say. 

“We just shouldn’t.” Nick thinks it’s a fine response. From the way Harry’s rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath he apparently doesn’t agree. 

“That’s crap,” Harry says.

“It’s not,” Nick argues. “It’s the truth. We shouldn’t.”

“Why not. Give me one good reason.”

Nick tries to be cheeky. “Well for one thing you’ve never asked me, and I don’t know what you’ve heard, Harry Styles, but I’m not that kind of boy.”

“Fine.” Harry grits his teeth. “Nick, would you like to go to dinner with me tonight. On a date.”

Nick sighs. “No.”

“Well why bloody not!” Harry’s starting to look angry now which isn’t a look Nick’s used to seeing on him. Of course, Harry being angry is best compared to a kitten that’s accidentally fallen into a sink of water, but still. On Mr. Perpetually Happy it looks strange. 

“Harry, it just wouldn’t--”

“If you say it _just wouldn’t work_ I’m going to kick you in the teeth.”

Nick blinks. “You actually wouldn’t.”

“Well, no.” Harry huffs. “Probably not. But I’d want to.”

And this is sweet, really, the way Harry’s trying to convince him that they should date. If it was happening to anyone else Nick would be proper entertained. The way it is now he’s just tired.

“Harry, it wouldn’t work between us, and I don’t know about you but you’re my best mate and I’m not going to risk that for something that’s doomed to fail.”

“But why?” Harry sounds genuinely confused. He’s got a crinkled frown dipping between his eyebrows, and his mouth is tipped down at the corners. “You think we’d be _doomed to fail_? Really? I mean, do you not remember when we--”

“Of course I remember, Harry. Christ. I may be old but I’m not _senile_.”

“Then _why_?” Harry’s stood up now and is pacing back and forth in Nick’s tiny kitchen. “I mean, it was a long time ago, yeah, but it was good. _We_ were good and then it just - it just _stopped_ , and I never knew what happened or why or anything.”

“Harry, please.” Nick drops his head into the palm of his hand. “Can we just stop talking about this? It was years ago, all right? It’s over now. Done with. That ship has sailed.”

“Well it didn’t _have_ to sail,” Harry says, voice raising the longer his speaks. “And I mean, all right. The ship sailed. But that doesn’t mean it’s sailed _forever_! Ships come back! And maybe my ship _never_ sailed. Did you ever think of that? Maybe this is my port, or something!”

Nick lifts his head and blinks. “Are we really doing this in ship metaphors?”

“I’m just saying,” Harry says, voice gone quiet and serious. “I’m just saying that you’re saying that the ship has sailed and I’m telling you that I never remember agreeing to buy a ticket for that particular boat ride.”

Harry’s quiet after that, the only sound the chair scraping against the floor when he pushes it to sit back down. Nick sighs heavily. This has been the longest day, and it’s only half nine in the morning.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, Harry,” Nick says quietly. “I just. We were friends, and we were together for a while but you went off and did your thing and I did mine and now we have this and it’s good. It’s. It’s good like this, yeah?”

“It is,” Harry says softly. He reaches out and takes Nick’s hand, slipping his fingers between Nick’s and squeezing. “But. I mean. It could be better.”

Nick closes his eyes. “I don’t understand why this is coming up now. Why you’re saying all this now.”

“Maybe because you never asked me then,” Harry says, and when Nick opens his eyes and looks at him Harry’s smiling. “Nick, I thought this was where we were heading all along. All of this,” he says, lifting their joined hands and gesturing to the insides of Nick’s flat. “A flat together and pets and a family; the whole thing. All of it. But you never said anything and then I went off on tour and by the time I got back you’d already started the paperwork to get Emma on your own, and I thought, well, I thought maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was planning for something with you that you were never planning on having with me.”

“Harry--”

“But I want this, Nick,” Harry says interrupting. “I’ve always wanted this.”

Nick rubs at his temples. He’s got a massive headache coming on. No one should have to have this much talk about feelings this early in the day. Nick’s going to lodge a formal complaint. “I don’t know, Harry. So much time has passed. Things are different now, and -- what in the bloody hell are you doing?”

Harry’s stood up and is yanking the shirt up over his shoulders and throwing it across the room. His jaw is tense, mouth set in a deep frown, and his eyes are bright green and locked on Nick. He goes for his pyjama bottoms next, shoving them down his legs and kicking them off when they hit the floor. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters darkly, and yes, at this point Nick would have to agree.

Harry’s gorgeous though, no matter what harebrained idea it was that Harry’s had that’s led to Nick seeing him like this. He’s all tanned skin and tight, coiled muscle. He’s got another new tattoo, this one on the top of his thigh curling under the leg of his boxers and Nick’s chest feels like it’s caved in on itself, his fingers itching to touch.

“We should have sex,” Harry says breathlessly. “I mean. If you want to.” 

Harry’s fingers flex at his sides before he curls them into fists and presses them into the tops of his thighs. His voice is steady, but Nick can see the flicker in his eyes, the way he’s still somehow unsure and my god, how stupid can Nick really _be_? How many times in his life is he going to keep turning this _down_?

“Unless you don’t want to.” Harry’s voice breaks. He sounds small and unsure. “You should definitely tell me if you don’t want to since I’m standing here starkers and all.”

And that’s it, really. Nick officially can’t take it anymore. “Oh my god you are a daft idiot,” Nick says, then finally gives up and kisses him. 

Kissing Harry is exactly like Nick remembered, like every sense memory is kicking in all at once. His mouth is wide and his hands are strong where they’re twisted in Nick’s hair. He sighs into Nick’s mouth, and Nick can feel it when Harry starts to smile, his lips curving under Nick’s as they kiss. 

“I missed you,” Harry breathes. He pulls back, and Nick could drown in the way Harry’s looking at him, like Nick’s the most important thing to him in the world. Harry’s shaking under Nick’s hands, and he rubs his palm over Harry’s shoulder, slides his fingers down the line of Harry’s back and pulls him closer. “God, Nick, I _missed_ you.”

“Harry, this is. This isn’t going to be easy.” Nick drops his forehead against Harry’s and sighs. Harry just smiles at him, kissing Nick quick on the corner of his mouth and pulling back to take Nick’s hand and lead him out of the kitchen. 

“Of course not, because it’s you and me,” Harry says simply. “My life is nuts and you’re a neurotic idiot.”

“Hey!”

“But I want this, and I love you,” Harry says. He’s stopped walking and is looking at Nick seriously. “And I love Emma and I love your flat and I love your hipster pets with their stupid ironic hipster names.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “The cat wasn’t my idea at _all_.”

“Mm hmm.” Harry chuckles. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I love you and everything that comes with you. If you love me too then I think we should be ok. We’ll figure it out.”

And really, if Nick’s being honest that’s all he’s ever really wanted anyway.

“So?” Harry waggles his eyebrows, and he should look ridiculous, naked save for a tiny pair of grey boxers and the most ridiculous and hopeful look on his face. Instead he looks like he could be the best thing in Nick’s world. “Come on, Nick. What do you say?”

Nick sighs up at the ceiling, long and over dramatic, but he’s smiling wider than he has in longer than he can remember. “I mean, I guess so.”

“You _guess_ so?” Harry’s giggling at him now, ignoring the way Nick is pretending to protest as Harry drags him down the hall to Nick’s bedroom. 

“Yeah,” Nick says nearly tripping over Puppy who’s lying sprawled on her back in the middle of the hallway. “I’ve not had any luck anyway so might as well give you a go, yeah? If you’re up for it that is.”

“Oh, I’m up for it, Grimshaw.” Harry yanks Nick in closer, and Nick can feel just how up for it Harry actually is. “Are you?”

Nick sends up a silent plea that he indeed is and follows Harry into the bedroom.

*

The late morning sunlight is streaming through the windows, gleaming bright off the white polished wood of his bedframe. He and Harry stumble through the doorway, and then Harry trips over one of Nick’s shirts that he’d left tossed on the floor from his date the night before. Nick keeps thinking that this should be weird, that things should feel strange or awkward since it’s been so long since the two of them have been together like this, but all Nick feels is a bone deep certainty; a clear, solid feeling of _finally_ settled comfortably in his bones. 

Harry’s hair is a mess, curls going every direction and sticking up straight in the back from where he’d slept on it funny. He’s older than he was when Nick saw him like this last; taller and broader, thicker in the chest and thigh, leaner in the waist. He’s got tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes and stubble covering his cheeks and chin and he’s the most amazing person Nick’s ever known. He’s exactly the boy Nick met for the first time all those years before, but he’s new now, like this. It’s been ages since Nick’s been able to touch him, taste his skin, feel the press of Harry’s lips under his own.

Nick shoves Harry onto the bed then crawls up after him and it’s a quick tangle of arms and legs, their chests pressed together and mouths sliding over each other’s wetly. Harry blinks up at him, green eyes wide and bright, and Nick’s chest clenches; he has a heart-stopping moment of clarity, the ring of _oh, God, I really love him_ echoing in his head before Harry smiles slowly, pulling Nick’s shirt up and over his head. 

“Is there a reason you’re still wearing clothes?”

Nick laughs. He drops his head down and bites at Harry’s shoulder, fitting his teeth over the loopy twist of the A inked into his skin and sucking. “Because I never took them off?”

“You should do that.” Harry’s hard against Nick’s thigh. He’s rocking up slowly, throat and chest flushing a bright pink every time he adds more pressure. Nick shoves his own pyjama pants and boxers down and then grabs Harry’s as well, kicking everything to the foot of the bed and trying not to come from just the sounds Harry’s making now that they’re skin on skin.

It’s everything Nick remembered and more because this is now. This is real. Not a foggy memory clouded by the passing of years and age. This isn’t tinted with the glaze of a night out which got them here, tequila shots or too many bottles of wine leading the way. It’s not because it’s something that they’ve been doing or something to kill time with or something to try out. 

It’s more than that. It’s him and Harry trying to make a go at this; a real go. It’s Harry’s hands on Nick’s back, his mouth open and wet, gasping every time Nick thrusts against him. It’s Harry shaking apart underneath him. The creak of the bedsprings and the breeze filtering in through the window. It’s looking down and recognizing Harry as the person he knew before but knowing he gets to have him back, have him for real and relearn every single thing about him. The things he likes and loves, the things that make him laugh and sigh and cry.

“Nick, Nick--” Harry twists his head to the side, fumbling around with the top of Nick’s bedside table. “Do you have stuff? Please tell me you have stuff.”

“I do, yeah. Just let me--” Nick pushes over to the side, and Harry whimpers when Nick moves away. He’s still got his hands curled around Nick’s waist, and he pulls him back greedily when Nick finds the lube and a condom in his bedside table drawer. 

“Do it quick,” Harry says. “Hurry, I’m not going to last.”

Harry’s eyes are wild when Nick flicks the cap of the lube and drizzles some on his fingers. He’s rubbing them together to warm it up when Harry huffs, shaking his head and grabbing Nick’s wrist, tugging his hand under Harry’s thigh until he’s right there, tips of his fingers resting just over the curve of Harry’s arse. 

“Slow down,” Nick says gently. He strokes over Harry’s hole slowly, the tip of one finger pressing gently, and Harry’s legs fall open, back arched, chest rising quickly with his ragged breaths. “I’ve got you.”

“Do another,” Harry whines. He shoves down, making a frustrated sound, and doesn’t stop until Nick pulls away and then goes back with two stretching Harry wider. “Nick, please.”

Nick goes slowly, and Harry curses at him about it the entire time. By the time Harry’s ready he’s slick with sweat, his chest flushed pink and warm, and Nick’s nearly done himself, ready to come just from the sight of Harry under him.

He rolls the condom on and slides in so, so slowly. Harry’s eyes are locked with his, wide and unblinking, and Nick can’t breathe with the way Harry’s watching him. Nick can’t tell which one of them are shaking more, which one of them makes a sound that feels more like a sob, and he’s shuddering, his chest aching with everything this means, with the enormity of everything that’s happened. 

“Nick,” Harry says, quiet and sweet. He closes his eyes, and the corners of his lips are tipped in a smile. Nick fucks into him slowly, thinking that later there will be time for fast and rough. Tomorrow they can be funny or silly or stupid. But this. This first time again now. Nick wants this one time just to _be_.

Harry’s curled his arms around Nick’s back, and Nick feels like he’s barely moving, more like rocking into Harry steadily, their bodies moving up the mattress in short bursts, the sheets and duvet turning into a twisted messy pile underneath them. The pillows are all piled against the headboard, and Harry lifts his head and bites at Nick’s shoulder, kisses the edge of his jaw and grabs Nick’s face to turn his head so their mouths meet, a sharing of tongues and teeth and the way Harry pants Nick’s name into his skin when he comes. 

“Come on,” Harry says, voice broken and loose. He hooks his ankles around Nick’s back and rocks up, shoving Nick deeper, forcing his dick in harder, and Nick can’t last, all he can feel is Harry’s hands on him. All he can see is Harry, his eyes and smile, and Nick’s burying his face in Harry’s shoulder as he comes. 

They don’t lay there long; just enough time for their breathing to even out, and then Nick slides out, rolling off the condom and wrapping it in a tissue that he tosses into the bin. He’s lying on his back waiting for his heart rate to return to normal when he feels Harry’s hand cover his, their fingers slotting together, and he turns his head and smiles. 

“So,” Harry says. “I think you owe me breakfast.”

Nick blinks. He knows Harry and how Harry works. He’d been expecting some romantic kissing or maybe another long and drawn out talk about their feelings. “I do?” he says, feeling his eyebrows scrunch in confusion. 

“Yes,” Harry says firmly. “I made you coffee this morning so now you have to cook me eggs.”

Nick barks out a laugh. “All right, if you think you’re going to be staying here, Styles, one thing you’re going to have to relearn is that if I’m in charge breakfast means some kind of cereal or you make it yourself, got it?”

It takes a second for Nick to realize why Harry’s grinning at him so dopily, but then he plays back what he’d said in his head and groans. 

“If I’m going to be staying here, huh?” Harry teases. “So that’s it? One shag and you’ve agreed to my idea about us being together? I mean, I knew you were easy, Grimshaw, but this is ridic--”

Anything else Harry’s trying to say gets drowned out by the pillow Nick’s shoved over his face.

*

_two weeks later_

“It’s just not _faaaaair_.”

Emma’s pouting at Nick and Harry both from the hallway of Aimee and Ian’s flat. Aimee’s come out to take Emma’s coat and her overnight bag, and Nick looks past her through the hall and waves at Ian, who’s rolling around on the floor in the living room with Sammy on his chest and Sabrina sat by his head and chewing on a pair of Aimee’s sunglasses.

“It’s just for one night,” Nick says, for possibly the thousandth time in the past hour. “Harry and I are going out and we’re going to be home late. You’ll have loads more fun here with Aunt Aimee and Uncle Ian and the twins anyway.”

“But what if Sammy pukes again!” Emma wails. 

“Oh, don’t you worry, Em.” Aimee pats Emma’s curls down and starts walking her into the flat. “I’ve got that shit - erm - I’ve got that figured out. I know exactly what he looks like before he yaks. If I think he’s going to do it we aim him at Uncle Ian and we run.”

Emma looks dubious, but she takes Aimee’s hand and starts walking. 

“And I’ll come pick you up tomorrow, Beans!” Harry calls out. “We’ll go out on a date for the whole rest of the day just you and me.”

“Promise?” Emma asks.

Harry blows her a kiss and winks. “Promise.”

“I can come too,” Nick offers.

Emma shrugs. “Eh. No, that’s all right.”

Nick tries not to kick Harry too hard on the way out, but it’s impossible to know if it’s working over all the booming fucking laughter. 

“What a traitor,” Nick mutters as they leave the flat, Emma tucked away safely for at least twelve hours. “To think that she’d rather spend time with _you_ over her own father.”

Harry shrugs and laughs. “Sorrrrry.”

They get to the car, and Nick unlocks the driver side, waiting for Harry to slide in before starting the car. He idles in front of Aimee and Ian’s for a second, and for as long as it takes for him to ask Harry where he wants to go for dinner Harry’s leaned over the console and is kissing him, mouth sweet and warm. Nick’s never been able to feel someone’s smile under their kiss as much as he can with Harry. It’s a feeling he’s pretty sure he can get used to.

“So where do you think we should head off to?” Nick asks, pulling away from the curb slowly. “We could do Italian or go to that new little wine bar, or--”

“Wherever is fine,” Harry says. “I’m up for anything.”

Nick looks over at him; the long line of his legs, the tight fit of the black shirt he’s wearing over his chest and shoulders. He clears his throat. 

“Or, you know. We could just go back to the flat.” Harry looks at him, eyebrows quirked in confusion. “Order a takeaway,” Nick says slowly, “Eat it naked, perhaps.”

“Oooh,” Harry says. “Yes. Good. Let’s do that. Going out is fun, but I’d rather go home anyway.”

He stops then, and sucks in a breath, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. Nick thinks about what he’d just said to have him acting so strange, and when he does all it does it make him happy, something warm and amazing slowly unfurling in his chest. 

“Yeah, popstar,” Nick says, reaching out to take Harry’s hand in his. “Let’s go home.”

 

-end-


End file.
